Page 9 of K-9 Prime Target

She skied more slowly now, and looked toward the camera from time to time. How many times had she done this—for television crews and documentary crews and even for trainers who would study her form and try to find ways to shave hundredths of a second off of her competition time. Today she felt none of the pressure of those other times—no compulsion to do better or look better or to prove that she was worthy of the focus on her.

She was doing a job now, paid to look good, but her performance today held little importance to her future. Her real purpose, as a ski patroller, depended on skill and caring, not fashion and figure.

The two dogs followed behind Nina and Liam, pausing to nip at each other or roll in the snow. By this time the lifts were running and the slopes were full of skiers. Nina became more aware of the tourists skiing dangerously close to the dogs, and to Sky’s lolling tongue and slowing gait. “I need to kennel Sky,” she said. “She’s getting really tired.”

“All right,” he said.

They stopped at the ski patrol headquarters to crate Sky. “What about Angel?” Nina asked. “She must be exhausted, too.”

“She can ride in my pack.” He scooped up the little dog, who vaulted to his shoulders and from there into the open top of his pack. She settled inside, the top of her head peeping out.

“You’re not too tired, are you?” Liam asked.

“Are you kidding? I do this all day.”

“Then let’s head higher up the mountain,” he said. “I’d like to get some panoramic shots.”

She guided him to a different lift, which deposited them on a ridge that afforded a view of the ski village spread out below. He took a few dozen photos, with and without her in the frame, as well as video footage. “This reminds me of when we met,” he said as she posed beneath a sign for Top of the Mark.

“Kvitfjell, Norway,” she said, and had a sudden, sharp recollection of a sunny day much like this one, when the photographer with the dog riding on his shoulder had approached her and introduced himself. “I was so focused on Angel at the time I almost immediately forgot your name.”

“Crushing for my ego,” he said. “Upstaged by a terrier.”

“You managed to make yourself pretty memorable,” she said. Less than a week later the two of them had been inseparable, spending every night and much of each day together. She had never fallen into a romantic relationship so quickly and completely. Over the next two months the connection between them had been intoxicating, daring and even a little dangerous—until they arrived in Lake Placid and real danger intruded.

Her radio crackled, and patroller Lily Alton’s voice said, “I’ve got a yard sale over on Top of the Mark. Maybe a broken bone.”

Nina keyed her mic. “I’m right here at Top of the Mark,” she said. “I’m on my way.”

She turned to Liam. “I have to go,” she said, then planted her poles and took off.

Two-thirds of the way down the slope she spotted a crowd gathered to one side of the run, and Lily’s bright red jacket. A pair of skis, two poles and even a glove were scattered across the snow—the “yard sale” Lily had referenced, a sign of an out-of-control fall. Nina steered to the edge of the run, removed her skis and hurried to Lily and the young man who lay on his back in the snow, his face contorted in pain. “Nina! I thought you were off for the day,” Lily said.

“I’m here and no one else is,” Nina said. “Let me help.” She knelt beside the man in the snow. “What’s hurting you?” she asked.

“Leg.” He groaned. “I heard it pop.”

Lily joined her beside the man. “I’m just going to feel around and make sure you don’t have an open fracture or any bleeding,” she said.

Gently, Lily ran her hands over his lower leg, where he had indicated the pain. When she tried to loosen his boot, he screamed. “Okay, no more of that,” she said. “We’ll splint it, which should help with the pain.”

He nodded, his face almost as pale as the snow.

Brian Weeks, an easygoing blond, arrived on a snowmobile, pulling an orange plastic rescue sled. He glanced at Nina but said nothing. “We need to splint his leg,” Lily said. “Then shift him into the sled.”

Anders Iverson, a Norwegian who had been part of that country’s junior men’s ski team, skied up a few minutes later with his avalanche dog, Darth. “One adult leg splint,” he said, and presented the bright orange splint.

The four of them worked for the next few minutes to ease the man’s leg into the splint, a process that produced a sharp cry of pain with each movement. But at last the man was splinted and secured in the sled.

Nina was sweating from the effort but was rewarded when the man smiled up at her. “Thanks,” he said. “Sorry about all the groaning.”

“I’d be screaming my head off if I broke my leg,” she said. “You did great.” She had, in fact, broken her leg six years ago, in Slovenia. She didn’t remember much about the incident, but she had watched video of the accident later and she had only screamed on impact. Then she had passed out.

Brian remounted the snowmobile and began to ferry the sled down the slope, Anders skiing behind. “Thanks for your help,” Lily said, before she took off after the others.

Liam skied to her side. “That was impressive, seeing you all work together,” he said.

“You filmed it, didn’t you?”